Apocalyptic Calypso

I woke up from my second day in a row of dreaming about total destruction.  Yesterday's dream has faded but involved running through a landscape of bombed-out buildings, smoldering craters, and a panicked, dangerous populace.

In this one, first I was a kid in a school for fascists, taught to fear brutal trained chimps and baboons that would come into one's room to search out disloyal books and so on.  At one point we were encouraged utterly to destroy our rooms and all our possessions in a frenzy of state loyalty simply to prove we gladly followed any and all directions; it felt so awful.

And then I was adult me, in my old home town of Ebensburg, PA, as the fascists soldiers came with demolition in mind, literally to raze the town with the people still in it.  If we ran, they killed us.  If we hid, they knocked the buildings down on us.  I kept having to duck, and watch above me.  I-beams fell on people, little three-legged robots rushed soldiers around to shoot stragglers, and tremendous sheets of glass fell and shattered.  Flying shards cut us; my hand caught one as I blocked my face.  I saw them using small squibs to knock out supports so the buildings would just collapse sideways and take out whole streets.  I saw them torching what ever burned.  I saw them driving trucks over people and swinging wrecking balls at windows full of screaming people.  Everything was falling and crushed us, and there was nothing stable underfoot as debris shifted.  You had to run on half-crushed people, some grabbing your ankles for help.  There was nowhere to go, and as you ran from soldiers you had to try to avoid cul-de-sacs and dead-ends.  There was literally no refuge, either.  Nowhere to go, nothing to do.   It was terrifying, and it ended with me and some kid standing in a field surrounded by the debris of a housing development -- I'd somehow gotten out of downtown proper.  We stood panting and jittery, responding to every sound, and then there was a huge, deep rumble and we looked over and saw the courthouse going down in a huge plume of smoke, and in the distance we could hear more of that low sound and I thought, Ah, Johnstown's going down.  A cat came by, walking arrogantly the way cats do, and the kid said, without moving,  "We could eat that; wh didn't we kill it?", and I said, "We didn't kill the cat because then we'd be like them.  We can scrounge, though.  Canned goods and stuff. Trouble is, winter's coming, and our fires will give us away.  Unless we live in the burning rubble.  Maybe then they won't bother looking."

Really bleak.

And just as I woke I thought, "Uh-uh; you'd have no meds.  You'd croak from the effort of scrambling for survival."

Another day in Paradise, eh?  LOL  Whoa.

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Vast is the Earth, yet so is it small.  To a demon, Earth is a bauble.  To one lost in a desert, it is a solid echo of the sky.

Between those truths we live our mad scramble lives from dark to dark.

Balanced on a grain of sand called love, those truths keep each other at bay.  Size and its lack encompass us.  Micro and macro swing us in their arms.

And so we sleep.

--From the Liturgy at Hessia Abbey

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A stupid man's report of what a clever man says can never be accurate, because he unconsciously translates what he hears into something he can understand.
-- Bertrand Russell

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May I humbly suggest "Never Tear Us Apart" by INXS as theme music for this Apocalyptic Calypso dream?  Made me cry right after I wrote down the dream; elegiac defiance. J. S. Bach’s “Air On a G String” provides a nice cool-down, then, followed by "Don't Cry" by Guns & Roses for a stirring bounce-back.

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Story is the song, writing is the singer.
--W B Kek, informal talk